Like Gravity(58)

My heart stuttered in my chest, then started to race at what felt like twice its normal rate. The walls of the Narcissistic Asshole box started to rattle, then buckle violently, the wood straining under the pressure until the top exploded off altogether and Finn freaking Chambers escaped back into the forefront of my mind. I mentally acknowledged that he’d never fit in that damn box again – not that he’d ever really belonged there in the first place.

I should’ve been angry that he’d caused my minor – okay, major – freak out, but I was overwhelmed by equal parts giddiness that he was still here and paralyzing terror at the undeniable attachment I felt for him. Anger had to take the back burner, for the moment – I could only handle one mental breakdown at a time, pre-caffeine fix.

Covering up my extreme internal distress, I aimed for nonchalant indifference – rolling my eyes at him and flopping backwards onto my pillow, my gaze alternated between the painted universe of stars and the mind-f*ck of a man before me. He looked completely at ease and self-assured, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be waking up in my apartment and doing god knows what while I was still asleep.

“How long have you been awake?” I asked somewhat grumpily. I was unprepared for this conversation, for this day, without first having my coffee. My brain didn’t even begin to function normally until after cup number two. In fact, that debilitating pain that had lanced through my chest when I’d thought Finn had left me? Maybe it had just been caffeine deprivation.

One could only hope.

“A few hours,” he said, shrugging and walking closer to me. Leaning over the bed, careful not to get any paint on my comforter, he kissed me. Though our mouths were our only point of contact, it wasn’t the gentle good morning peck I’d anticipated. Finn’s kiss was consuming, near-painful in its irrefutable desire – a reminder of what last night had been, and a promise of more nights to come.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, pulling away.

I tried to slow my breathing so I didn’t sound like an asthmatic who’d just run a half-marathon when I answered him. I cleared my throat and pulled a deep breath into my lungs, praying I wasn’t as transparent as I felt. For f*ck’s sake, I was nearly panting.

“Like the dead, apparently,” I said, glancing up at the ceiling. “I didn’t even hear you do all this.”

“I was quiet. Stealthy. Some might even say ninja-like,” he grinned down at me, his cobalt eyes warm on mine.

“Who? Who might say that?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Me.”

“It doesn’t count if you’re the only one saying it,” I grinned back at him and rolled my eyes at his ridiculousness. “And I was so tired I could’ve slept through an earthquake.”

“Is that you admitting I wore you out last night?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Cocky.”

“Confident,” he countered, dropping a light kiss on the end of my nose. I wrinkled it at him in response, watching as he made his way back to the ladder in the corner of my bedroom. “So, do you like it?” he asked, voice deceptively casual as he gestured up at the stars on my deep blue ceiling. Despite his blasé tone, I thought I detected a nervous undercurrent in his question, as if he were genuinely worried about my reaction.

“I love it,” I whispered honestly, looking anywhere but at him. It was enough that he could hear the emotion making my voice crack roughly; I didn’t need him to see the moisture clouding over my eyes as well. This gesture was more than anyone had done for me in all the years since my mom died, and I was utterly overwhelmed by it.

It was as if he’d somehow dipped into my memories and known exactly how my childhood walls had been painted; like he’d sensed that this would be the perfect addition to my new bedroom. It was uncanny how well he seemed to know my tastes, to recognize and anticipate my likes and dislikes – almost as if he were innately attuned to my every thought and feeling.

When I was confident that my tears were under control, I turned back to look at him. He was standing at the base of the ladder, staring straight at me. I knew he could read my face like an open book, watching as I struggled to weather the storm of emotions brewing within me. Thankfully, he didn’t push me to talk about it.

“I’m glad you like it, princess,” he replied, a small smile twisting up one side of his mouth.

“Princess?” I asked. The only time I’d ever heard the nickname ‘princess’ used, it was said sarcastically or condescendingly. Finn said it affectionately, though – a sincere, reverent endearment I wasn’t sure how to process. He grinned at me, failing to elaborate any further. Apparently, I was going to have to drag it out of him.

“Why princess?” I didn’t think he was making fun of me, but considering how off base some of my assumptions about Finn had been in the past, I decided it was safest to simply ask him.

“You look so small in that big white bed of yours, swallowed up in all those pillows and fluffy blankets. And when you were sleeping, with all that dark hair spilling across your pillow, and your face so peaceful…You were beautiful. You are beautiful.” He swallowed roughly, eyes intense as he stared at my face like he was committing every feature to memory. “Angelic. Like some unattainable f*cking fantasy I dreamed up.”